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#trichitillomania
Today is the day National mental health day One of the many days I regret I should speak out I want to But my mental illness has me chained So instead I pull Pull my way closer But the chains keep me back Closer to the truth Closer to the hesitation For me, pulling is my release I read online that the rough ones- With black bulbs were bad ones The “wicked witch” ones So I started Pulling out my fears, Doubts, Insecurities From my head- one by one Until I laid there helpless In a cloud of my mistakes Somehow seeing all my worries in front of me didn’t make them go away Instead, I became more aware More aware of my failures For the unknown future that lies in store One by one October 23, 2016 I kept the receipts A friend- not a close one, more of those friends of friends She chose me to tell her story to She was ***** By a guy we all knew and trusted A “good guy” I lent her an ear, or rather a willing text I thanked her for her bravery For allowing me to be a small fraction of her story of overcoming I might be one of twenty she told, or maybe just two I don’t know. I may never know. But what she may not know is that night She became my one Someone I knew almost nothing about I told her my story and asked how she told her first I hoped of getting some of her strength through some sort of Twitter DM telepathy Alas you can’t gift strength like that Oh God, I wish you could I go back and read those messages all the time trying I read my TimeHop every day Sometimes for the memories But more often than not they bring back the nightmares I do it for the relief The streak number tick ticking higher Counting the days that have gone by Or the hairs I’ve pulled Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day Is there a day like this for those who came out to their loved ones about their mental illness? I will also not be participating. My mental illness is keeping me from doing so I am buried deep in my closet, hiding under clothes and forgotten tags My fingers raking through the carpet Finding that momentary release The glorious relief lasting a moment I run my fingers through the rough fibers searching for more My family doesn’t know Or if they do, they don’t want to break our perfect mold I pull discretely Around my head, just a receding hairline, no bald patches Yet I never get my haircut At least, by a professional The last time I went, my stylist said it was new growth Not my past coming to haunt me. She pulls at them showing me, calling them baby hairs How do I tell her that each one represents shame, frustration, guilt Each one represents one party, one good time with friends I’ve missed Hiding behind those fears, covered in guilt Back in my closeted mind Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I cut myself open Would blood run out or the words I meant to say? When it’s a bad day, I pull at large sections of my hair Wondering what it would be like to rip it all out in two sections It makes me cry in pain, but the voices tell me about the sweet relief it may bring I almost give in What hurts me the most is noticing the people around me who have it Does the girl sitting in front of me know One day she may have to get surgery To remove the hairball in her stomach from eating at her hair? I see her run it through her lips, feeling the same texture. Does the boy, scratching away at his knuckles Understand what’s underneath his skin? I wonder what his blood would say Would it tell my story? Would it tell ours?
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Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
trackgirl3
Pulling
Today is the day National mental health day One of the many days I regret I should speak out I want to But my mental illness has me chained So instead I pull Pull my way closer But the chains keep me back Closer to the truth Closer to the hesitation For me, pulling is my release I read online that the rough ones- With black bulbs were bad ones The “wicked witch” ones So I started Pulling out my fears, Doubts, Insecurities From my head- one by one Until I laid there helpless In a cloud of my mistakes Somehow seeing all my worries in front of me didn’t make them go away Instead, I became more aware More aware of my failures For the unknown future that lies in store One by one October 23, 2016 I kept the receipts A friend- not a close one, more of those friends of friends She chose me to tell her story to She was ***** By a guy we all knew and trusted A “good guy” I lent her an ear, or rather a willing text I thanked her for her bravery For allowing me to be a small fraction of her story of overcoming I might be one of twenty she told, or maybe just two I don’t know. I may never know. But what she may not know is that night She became my one Someone I knew almost nothing about I told her my story and asked how she told her first I hoped of getting some of her strength through some sort of Twitter DM telepathy Alas you can’t gift strength like that Oh God, I wish you could I go back and read those messages all the time trying I read my TimeHop every day Sometimes for the memories But more often than not they bring back the nightmares I do it for the relief The streak number tick ticking higher Counting the days that have gone by Or the hairs I’ve pulled Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day Is there a day like this for those who came out to their loved ones about their mental illness? I will also not be participating. My mental illness is keeping me from doing so I am buried deep in my closet, hiding under clothes and forgotten tags My fingers raking through the carpet Finding that momentary release The glorious relief lasting a moment I run my fingers through the rough fibers searching for more My family doesn’t know Or if they do, they don’t want to break our perfect mold I pull discretely Around my head, just a receding hairline, no bald patches Yet I never get my haircut At least, by a professional The last time I went, my stylist said it was new growth Not my past coming to haunt me. She pulls at them showing me, calling them baby hairs How do I tell her that each one represents shame, frustration, guilt Each one represents one party, one good time with friends I’ve missed Hiding behind those fears, covered in guilt Back in my closeted mind Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I cut myself open Would blood run out or the words I meant to say? When it’s a bad day, I pull at large sections of my hair Wondering what it would be like to rip it all out in two sections It makes me cry in pain, but the voices tell me about the sweet relief it may bring I almost give in What hurts me the most is noticing the people around me who have it Does the girl sitting in front of me know One day she may have to get surgery To remove the hairball in her stomach from eating at her hair? I see her run it through her lips, feeling the same texture. Does the boy, scratching away at his knuckles Understand what’s underneath his skin? I wonder what his blood would say Would it tell my story? Would it tell ours?
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